


The World Tried To Burn All the Mercy Out Of Me

by thatdamnedrogue



Series: sunshine riptide [1]
Category: Bloodborne (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, M/M, just had this idea floating around, may add more if I continue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-07
Updated: 2018-11-07
Packaged: 2019-08-19 23:32:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16544423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatdamnedrogue/pseuds/thatdamnedrogue
Summary: Split between what he remembers and where he's supposed to be, the Hunter tries to fix what keeps slipping through his fingers.





	The World Tried To Burn All the Mercy Out Of Me

“Oh…” The sighed voice through the window- _heart ached in memory, shouldn’t have gotten attached in this town_ \- “You must be a Hunter, and not one from around here either.” Accent told of Scotland, the Hunter was sure of it. Hunter. _Static_ . Words lost. _Static_ , the Hunter’s form wavered a moment, heart pounding in his ears. Mind faltered. Returned. “--willing to help,” the voice had kept talking.

 Voice.

 

Gilbert.

 

He knew without being told, of course he did, because this was his own personal fucking hell, where he couldn’t save a damn person- gloved fingers clutched the bars over the window- _remembered it broken, remembered the beast just outside, no, no, he had wanted to save that poor fellow who so helped him-_

 

“Are you alright?” A question out of the ordinary, breaking into the Hunter’s thoughts. How many times had they gone through this waltz? How many times was he doomed to fail? But then… Gilbert hadn’t asked him that before. He wasn’t sure how to respond- the polite answer would be yes, but that would also be a lie. Instead, the Hunter settled his head against the cool metal and made a pathetic sound.

 

“No.” He picked the truth, though he hesitated to elaborate. On the other side of the window, Gilbert began to cough, rough and wet. When the fit subsided, however, a pale hand reached up and rested atop one of the Hunter’s gloved ones.

 

“...It is trying, I know,” something in Gilbert’s voice was- well, it was more than sympathetic, as though he knew, knew more than he let on, or experienced more than the Hunter realized. Which, of course, made him aware of just how little he knew about the man behind the window.  “The Hunt is difficult… the night is long…” Wistful.

 

The Hunter exhaled shakily, not moving his hand. “I can’t--” Faltered. _Static_ . Grit his teeth and pushed past the feeling of leaking at the seams. “I don’t know if I  can handle losing everyone again.” He shouldn’t say it- he knew he shouldn’t, the static seemed worse, his head threatening to burst from the pressure within. _Wrong, wrong, he was wrong, something about him just wasn’t fitting into the slot he was trying to exist within_ -

 

Pale hand tightened as much as it could over his own, dragging the Hunter from drowning.

 

“Hunter,” Gilbert’s voice was gentle, admonishing as he continued, “you mustn’t push yourself so. This town will take its toll if you’re not careful.”

 

_Oh if you only knew_ , bitter thought, a ragged breath drawn as the Hunter struggled to find his footing, his focus- “...Gilbert, what if-- ..what if you had a chance to save everyone you cared about.” He worried his lower lip only briefly before continuing, “Leave this town and just take off. Come what may.”

 

A hum from the Scotsman, consideration broken only by a coughing fit. The Hunter waited. The coughing passed, though the pale hand withdrew. Disappointment found him, and the good Hunter released the bars. Gilbert sighed.

 

“I would… try, I think. Convince those I cared for to join me, and leave… but I don’t think Yharnam is exactly keen on letting anyone go, strange as it may sound. This town _is_ cursed. Staying here too long… some people may not be able to leave.” There was a sorrow in his voice that not even sunshine could brighten- the Hunter gripped the bars again.

 

“What if I could get you out? Even if you die-- Even if you die, you could- in peace, away from this--” Voice wavered. The static was back, worse, and the bars groaned under his grip. The Hunter let go of them once more, instead sinking to his knees, forehead pressed against the metal.

 

“What’s all this about?” Gilbert sounded… surprised, to say the least, some sort of shifting behind the curtain, pale hand emerging once more to rest atop the Hunter’s hat. “You’re so worried for me?” He’d not had someone so concerned since-- well. That wasn’t important. He’d been in Yharnam too long.

 

“Not-- just you. But yes, I’m- worried for you.” Fingers twitched alongside his words, no longer having anything to hinder them- he signed as he spoke, though it went unseen.

 

“Don’t you worry about me,” Gilbert's voice was gentle, hand staying where it lay for a moment longer before withdrawing. He was overexerting himself as it was- ought to practice what he preached. A few wet coughs- the Hunter could smell blood. “What is your name, hunter?” The question was soft, wheezed out after the delay- causing the Hunter's head to lift, mismatched eyes staring at the bars. Truthfully, the right eye was only lighter due to the scar over it- he should have lost vision in it, and yet…

 

“...does it matter?”

 

“I would say so. I would like to know.”

 

The Hunter couldn't recall if he'd given it before-- memories swam in and out of focus. “...Marion.” Something twisted in his gut, there came a stabbing pain, causing one hand to press there as though to stop bleeding that wasn't real. A few shaky breaths before he dragged himself to his feet. “I’m going to figure this out,” he felt far away, gloved hands taking hold of Gilbert’s pale one, gripping firmly but gently- reassurance. “Please, let me- let me help this time.”

 

Confusion on the Scotsman’s features, but thankfully his countenance still remained obscured by the thick curtain. He returned the gesture- the squeeze he gave the Hunter’s hands weaker than the one he’d received, and he felt ashamed of it- there was a time when he was _stronger_ , bolder, healthier-- it felt like a distant memory these days. The warmth left him as the Hunter withdrew, promising to “fix it”, though Gilbert wasn’t entirely sure the Hunter was talking about his illness anymore. Footsteps receded.

 

Gilbert was left alone to his thoughts, hands resting in his lap. He’d been in Yharnam for quite some time, it was true. And prior to that? Well, he’d studied, he’d taught, he’d travelled. He was abroad when the first of it began, moonlighting as a Hunter in his own way- perhaps that was how he’d ended up with such a nasty plague. He wasn’t like the ones here in Yharnam, or like the ones who came here to end the plague- he’d never touched the blood until he’d heard what it could do, and he dumped his funds into heading to Yharnam.

 

It bought him years. A few years of clean (well...relatively clean) breathing, of his lungs healthy and not more or less rotting from the inside out.

 

Through his reminiscing, a thought struck like lightning: the Hunter- Marion- he’d said “this time”. _This time_? Implication being there was something before, something forgotten, maybe? Or maybe he’d lost enough… Gilbert coughed into his handkerchief, red spotting over old blood stains- there was more red and brown and pink than white to the cloth it seemed.

 

He leaned back, closing his eyes-it was a lot to consider, and he just wanted to rest… It took a while, but eventually, Gilbert drifted uneasily into a fitful sleep.


End file.
